Memories of Youth
by LikeTheBlackAndWhiteCat
Summary: A collection of one-shots featuring all your favourite foster characters from when they were younger. Please feel free to PM me with any request :)
1. The Dog

**So I was planning on writing a chapter for one of my stories, but then I got this idea so... yeah...**

 **Please favourite/follow/review if you like it (or even if you don't XD )**

 **Title : The Dog**

 **Summary:** **Nine year old Mariana sees an unwanted dog and identifies with it. Pure fluff Mariana and the moms**

 **DISCLAIMER: I don't own a thing, and I don't pretend to.**

 **The Dog**

The sign said 'Needs a home' and the dog beside it looks sad, it's grey head drooping as passer-bys walk by it, scarcely sparing it a glance.

You know how it feels. In fact, you used to _be_ it. You used to feel worthless, unwanted and unloved as you and your brother got passed from foster family to foster family, never finding a permanent placement and always fully aware that no one wanted the two of you, not even your own mother. At least, that's how it used to be. But then you found them, the Fosters, and now you have a family - two lovely, caring mommies and an older brother. You got all you'd ever dreamt about - people who _cared_ for you - and more. You got your own room, your own belongings, a family to keep forever. They even wanted to adopt you.

And you wanted them to. But more than that, you wanted to tell them how... _grateful_ you were to them. At first you couldn't tell them because you were scared and didn't know them well, and therefore refused to speak to anyone but your brother. Now, later on and after much patience on their behalfs, you could speak to them but didn't know _how_ to put into words what you so desperately wanted to say. Then again, how could anyone expect you to? Some _adults_ wouldn't be able to so how were you, at the mere age of nine-and-a-half, meant to?

You can't. So instead, you tell them through your actions. The hugs and kisses that you give them, the pink glitter and cut-out hearts that you use to decorate cards that you give them, the small hand squeezes you share as you walk with them, they all mean the same thing; _I love the two of you so much, thank you for loving me too._

But you know what it's like to not have that, to be unloved by practically everyone, to be kicked out of a home and have no idea why, no idea what you'd done wrong. So, as you look at the dog, tears form in your eyes and, before you know it, you're bawling. Once that begins, Stef and Lena take you home, both women confused as to why you're crying, but both women comforting you nonetheless.

By the time you've arrived home, you're calm and no longer crying. You've also formed a plan. A plan to give that dog a home, a plan to give that dog a chance to be loved.

Later, when they question you, you can only shrug. You will honestly not be able to recall how you managed to sneak out of the house and go back to the dog, or how you then got home. But you did, you arrived back home and with you was the dog.

You named the dog Mariana Foster. Mariana because that was your name and Foster so that it would feel like it belonged in the house. Secretly, you were hoping that Stef and Lena would realise how good that sounded and make that be your name. But you didn't want to get your hopes up, Jesus always told you not to and, even with this being a safe home, you put whatever Jesus said above anything and anyone else.

But, when Lena asked, you still told her the dog's name - once they'd gotten over the shock of going upstairs to tuck their soon-to-be-daughter in bed and instead finding a scruffy grey terrier lounging around on top of the covers. At first they'd sounded cross, but after you told them her name, Lena's eyes had softened, and Stef's voice had lost it's sharp tone. They'd both became even more sympathetic when you pointed out how similar it was to you.

Lena had sat down on the edge of your bed and pulled you into a one-sided hug, so that your head rested on her shoulder. Then, Stef knelt down, becoming eye-level with you and holding your hand.

"We can't keep her, Mariana, I'm sorry." She'd told you. "She's old and probably comes with a huge vet bill, not to mention fleas."

You'd frowned at that, and shook your head, "So?" You'd questioned, "Up until you two, no one wanted Jesus and I because we weren't the age they wanted - we were too old. _And_ you wanted us, even after Jesus broke his arm falling out of that tree!"

When Stef shoots Lena a look, you know that you'll get your way. You smile and Lena sighs.

"Okay," she says, "Mommy and I will discuss it and then _maybe_ we can keep her. _But_ you need to choose another name for her - we can't have two Mariana Fosters around - is that understood, Miss Thing?"

You nod excitedly. Not only do you get the dog - there was _no_ way they'd decide against it - but without realising it, Lena had granted you what you'd desperately wanted - she'd called you Mariana Foster!

Happily, you opened your arms around the three of them - both moms _and_ the dog - and squeezed hard.

You ended up naming the dog Belle, after your favourite Disney princess. It turned out that Stef was right, Belle _was_ old. So old, in fact, that she died shortly after your adoption had been finalised. But, though sad, you were okay with that.

After alll, in the end, she'd gotten a loving family, and so had you.

And you couldn't ask for more than that.


	2. Met Before

**Hey, so a big thank you if you didn't straight away close the window for this story after the AN on the previous page XD**

 **Please favourite/follow/review if you like it (or even if you don't XD )**

 **Title : Met Before**

 **Summary : Years ago, they'd met before, at a park.**

 **DISCLAIMER : I don't own a thing, and I don't pretend to.**

It was that time again. The time of the year that she dreaded the most.

 _Mothers' day._

Sure, now she had Stef and Lena, but that didn't make the day any better. How was she meant to be okay, meant to _celebrate_ it when all it did was serve as a reminder for what - for _who_ \- she'd lost?

So she didn't. Instead, after giving the moms their gifts, she excused herself from the room and ran upstairs, hurrying herself to her bedroom, upon arrival of which she got into her bed and wrapped her duvet around herself, creating a physical layer - a physical _barrier -_ betwee herself and the rest of the world. And only then did she begin to cry.

And cry.

And cry.

She allowed herself to grieve, to let her pain fill her body. She allowed herself to miss her mother, something that she didn't do. Not ever.

Not if she could help it.

So consumed by her grief was she, that she didn't hear her door open, didn't hear her name begin called out uncertainly, didn't feel the bed shift slightly as someone sat down beside the shaking mound that was her. She did, however, feel the two arms that wrapped around her body, snaking under the duvet and engulfing her into a large, comforting hug.

"Hey, Love."

She lifted up the edge of her duvet to see Stef's face, the older woman wearing sympathetic smile.

"Do you know, on Fathers' day, I had no idea how I'd get through it. I managed okay, only missing my dad a little, until you kids were in bed. Then, as I got into bed beside Lena, it hit me; I was never going to share another Fathers' day with my dad. And at first, I just burst into tears, and then, I spoke to Lena. And even though she has both her parents, she understood, because she understands _me."_ Stef smiled again, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of Callie's hair behind her ear. "What I'm trying to say, Sweets, is that even though I have my mom, even though Lena has hers, and so does Brandon and the twins, you're not alone. You can tell us when you miss her - no matter when that is - we understand. She was - and still _is_ \- your _mom_. Do you get what I'm saying?"

Meeting Stef's even gaze, she nodded. "Yes."

"Good. Do you want to talk about her?"

Callie hesitated, unsure, before this time shaking her head. "No."

Stef's smile never faltered, though a flicker of hurt was detectable in her eyes. "Okay."

"I mean," shifting on her bed so that she could sit up, Callie bit her lip. "That's the problem. You don't know her. You never met her, never spoke to her, never even _saw_ her. And Jude doesn't remember much - he was too young. It's just me, it's only me, and telling you just reminds me of that - just shows how separate I am from all of you, and how easy it is for someone to just... not exist."

"Oh Sweets!"Stef cried, her heart going out to the grieving girl in front of her, "I wish that I could help you, I wish that I'd met the wonderful woman that created the amazing girl I see in front of me, I do. But I don't and the only way your mama and I can is by you telling us about her. And if you don't want to - or fell that you can't - that's okay. But just know that you can, okay Bug?"

Callie nodded, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. "I know. And I think that you'd get along, she was sort of a mixture of you and Lena - the two of you often remind me of her."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

The two of them sat in silence, consumed by their own thoughts.

Unknown to the two of them, they were wrong. Stef _had_ met Coleen before.

...

 _As they stood cramped under the single umbrella, Stef couldn't help but feel that it'd been a mistake to take the kids to the park. Yes, Jesus had been practically bouncing of the walls, and Brandon had been so consumed by his newly acquired his piano that he hadn't left his room - barr for meals - in two days, but with the amount of fuss Mariana had made when forced to go out and the sheer amount of_ rain _falling from the skies above, it seemed like too much effort for something which hadn't really helped. Especially when her partner, Lena, wasn't even there to help her keep control of the kids. All that she'd achieved was getting Jesus covered head to toe in mud, Brandon to cause his siblings to go crazy as he persistently and repeated hummed the current piece of music that he was learning, and Mariana to go into a sulk, after a full-blown Miss Thing tantrum._

 _"Excuse me," Stef turned at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. The owner of the voice was a woman, who looked to be slightly younger than Lena, but not by much. In her arms she held a young boy who couldn't have been older than four and was holding hands with a girl who was about the same age as Brandon. "Excuse me, but do you know where the nearest bus station is?"_

 _"Um, yeah." With a nod, Stef proceed to give the woman and her young family instructions._

 _"Thanks." The woman smiled, "We took a wrong turn and this one-" here she gestured to the boy "- is getting a little tired. As is Cals."_

 _At that the girl, Cals, looked up and glared at her mother, pouting slightly. "No I'm not. I'm not tired. I want to stay here."_

 _At the woman's exasperated look, Stef couldn't help but send her a sympathetic smile. "Little angels, huh?"_

 _The woman let out a sort, sharp laugh. "Are yours as bad?" She asked, gesturing to them._

 _"Worse." Stef replied dryly, but affectionately. "This one is known as 'Miss Thing' for a reason..."_

 _Mariana looked up briefly at the sound of her nickname, before continuing to talk to her brothers._

 _"Wow, I hear you. Cals refuses to let her birthday be just that - a day. Last year she twisted her dad's arm into agreeing to let it last an entire_ week _! Still, you've gotta love them, huh?"_

 _"Exactly, sometimes I don't know what to do with them, but I always know that I couldn't do without them. I love all my babies, so much."_

 _"Exactly." The woman nodded again, before shifting the boy slightly in her arms in order to check her watch, "Well as nice as this chat has been, I'd better get going. Thank you, again."_

 _"No problem."_

 _With one more smile, the woman and her two children left. Stef smiled again. Knowing how bad some children had it, it always made her happy when she saw children in happy, loving families, just like the ones she'd just seen._

 _..._

The two of them sat in silence, consumed by their own thoughts.

Unknown to the two of them, they were wrong. Stef _had_ met Coleen before.

And chances were, they would never realise that.


	3. Different

**Hey so thanks for the review, favourites and follows. I've been meaning to add another one-shot, but couldn't think of anything good until now... Isn't it typical that good(ish) ideas only come late at night when you should be sleeping (or hurrying to finish an assignment...) :3**

 **Anyhow, please review, favourite or follow if you like this. Also feel free to leave suggestions :D Oh, and constructive criticism is always welcome :)**

 **Title : Different**

 **Summary : (I haven't thought of a good one yet, sorry :3 )**

 **DISCLAIMER : I don't own a thing, and I don't pretend to.**

 **Note : There is a brief bit of stronger language used... only as something an adult says, but still, I know offensive language tends to... well, offend some people, so yeah, just be aware of that?**

He didn't understand. He hadn't done anything wrong... Or at least if he had then, he hadn't realised that he had, and therefore didn't think it was right for him to be in trouble. But he was... Well, his sister was but that was because of him. And it was his fault, even if he hadn't done anything. After all, if he was _normal_ then this wouldn't happen. But he wasn't. And he didn't understand why.

Curling up into the fetus position, he buried himself in his duvet, quietly crying. It was like this that his sister found him, and it was like this that he remained as she wrapped her arms around him, both reassuring and comforting him as he wept.

Even once his tears stepped she remained beside him, quietly whispering words of comfort as she stroked his hair with one hand. He turned around slightly, burying his head into her shoulder.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair and he didn't understand why.

"That's just how it goes, bud." She whispered, causing him to realise that he'd spoken aloud, "Not everything is fair. Someone somewhere always has to get the short end of the stick."

Looking up at her, he frowned slightly. "Why?" He asked, puzzled, "Why can't the ends be the same length?"

His sister sighed. "Because it doesn't work that way, Baby." She whispered, "I wish it did, but it doesn't... Not for people like us." There was a slightly wistful note in her voice by the end of her explanation.

"Oh." He didn't question it. He knew that she was right, and that day's events just confirmed what she'd said.

He's quiet for a moment, they both are. But, at the sound of the angry yell downstairs - accompanied by the noise of something breaking - he couldn't help but flinch, and automatically burrowed himself further into his sister's embrace. The girl's arm tightened around the thin boy and her other hand stilled in his hair as she lay listening to what was going on downstairs - getting ready to protect the boy if needs be.

The boy silently sighed. His sister had already gotten into trouble once today because of him, it didn't seem fair for her to get punished again.

Then again, she'd already told him that life wasn't fair, that nothing could change that.

And maybe she was right, but he could change what happened that night. He could be the one to protect her.

He could do something different.

Different.

After all, that was what had started things that day, him being different.

Him finding a half-empty bottle of nail polish in the bathroom that morning.

Him wearing the nail polish.

Him being laughed at at school.

Him being yelled at at home.

Callie sending him upstairs.

Callie protecting him.

 _Not any more._

He looked down at his nails. Despite the fact that the dark blue colour had been messily applied, unevenly spread and was already chipping, he felt confident - empowered, even - and that made all the difference.

When their foster father yelled for them, he followed his sister, ignoring her order for him to stay upstairs. He went with her to the living, stood next to her as the man yelled at them, helped her when she was ordered to sweep up the mess that the drunkard had made. He didn't hide, didn't cower, didn't cry. Not even when their foster father saw that he still had the nail polish on, not even when he hit the boy, not even when he yelled at the boy (calling him a " _Fucking faggot")._ He didn't cry and that felt amazing.

He couldn't believe it- he'd changed what happened, he was in control, nothing was going to be unfair again.

The next day, they got moved. It was his fault, he was too different for the foster father. Callie was right, nothing was fair.

Much like the night before, he ended up lying in his bed crying. When his sister found him like that, she sighed and sat down on his mattress, lying beside him and slowly stroking his hair.

"It's okay, baby, it's okay." She didn't need to ask what was wrong, she already knew.

Sniffing, he turned to face her. "I'm sorry!" He wailed, "I'm sorry, I messed everything up, I didn't mean to, I just wanted things to be different!"

"Oh. Baby," She sighed, pulling him into a tight hug, "One day it will be, Baby, I promise you that. One day it won't matter what we do or say or wear. It won't matter if you chose to wear nail polish, or play with dolls, or dress up in dresses. You be able to be you, to be free, and no one will stop you. One day, Baby, I promise. But until then... try to tone it down, okay Bud I don't care what you choose to do - I'll always love you and that's not ever going to change - but not everyone's like that and so you need to be careful, okay?"

He sniffed again and wiped his eyes. "Okay," He agreed, even though doing so felt so... _wrong._

He mentally shook himself, pushing the feeling to the back of his mind.

It didn't matter what he thought. Callie had asked him to do it, so he would.

 _Besides,_ He reasoned with himself, _Callie promised him that one day it'd change, and his sister didn't break her promises. Ever._

So until that day, he'd try not to be so different.


	4. His Fault

**Hey, so anther little one shot for you... I hope you guys like it :3**

 **So I wanted to write the next one about Jesus... But I'm not certain if I got his character right... sorry :3**

 **Any how, please favourite, review or follow if you like it and let me know if there's any particular scenes you want - I'll happily try my best!**

 **Title : His Fault**

 **Summary : Jesus-Centric (sorry, can't think of a good summary...)**

 **DISCLAIMER : I don't own a thing, and I don't pretend to.**

 **His Fault**

It was his fault. Of course it was. Rather than listen to his foster mother and calm down, he'd continued to run about and, as a result, the urn had been knocked over.

He knew the instant it fell, the instant his foster mother turned and saw the ashes of her grandmother scattered across the floor, that that was it, he and his sister weren't going to be staying at that home any more.

He knew that - once again - it was his fault.

Without giving her a chance to say - _to yell -_ at him, he fled upstairs, pulling his twin behind him.

Entering his room, his sister headed straight for under his bed, tightly clutching her blankie, her very much beloved comfort blanket, as she remained hidden. Unlike Mariana, he stayed out in the open - he didn't want their foster mother to search the room for him and end up finding his sister. Sitting down on the covers of his Pokemon duvet covers he patiently stared at the door, waiting for his foster mother to angrily burst threw it and trying _desperately_ hard _not_ to fidget.

As he waited, he could feel his mind racing, one thousand and seventy four - _make that one thousand and seventy fi... eight -_ thoughts swimming around his head at once. He knew that he was getting work up, he could _feel_ it happening, but he couldn't do anything about it - he couldn't stop it.

Suddenly, a wave of anger overcame him.

He _hated_ not being able to control himself. He _hated_ that because of him his sister was hiding under his bed. And he _hated_ that there was nothing he could do about it, about _anything_.

Full of rage, he stood up and yanked his duvet off of his bed, throwing it onto the floor. Then he grabbed his pillows and they quickly joined the duvet on the floor. Still angry and definitely not thinking straight, his shelving unit was the next thing to fall to the ground, several items noisily breaking as they impacted with the wooden flooring. Heading to his wall, he violently pulled the poster that he'd so proudly put up just the other day, causing it to tear.

Breathing loudly, he stood in the middle of his room, sweat causing his black hair to stick t his forehead. As his vision cleared, he slowly realised what he'd just done.

If they weren't going to be moved before, then they _definitely_ were now...

Before he could move, or do _anything_ , the bedroom door opened and his foster mother stood in the doorway, her mouth opening in shock as she stared at him.

"Jesus Christ! What have you done?!"

"Actually, it's _Jesus Gutierrez_..." The words escaped his mouth before he'd had time to think. For a moment his foster mum just stared at him, opening and closimg her mouth like a goldfish, before she slowly began to laugh.

"That... That, my young friend, was a good one." She carefully made her way over to him, before sitting down on his rather bare bed. "Do you want to tell me why you did this?" Her tone was nothing but friendly, and her eyes held no anger, just concern for the boy in front of her.

He shrugged. "I was angry."

"And when you're angry you like to break things?"

"Not exactly," He bit his lip as he searched his limited vocabulary for the right way to explain himself, "I just... I didn't realise that I had broken anything, until I calmed down."

"Right, and why were you angry in the first place?"

"Because I did something stupid." Shifting from leg to leg, he scratched the back of his neck and bowed his head, trying to avoid looking at the woman in front of him.

Unfortuantely, she wasn't having that. "Eyes up here, please." She gently but firmly told him. Once his dark brown eyes met her blue ones, she smiled kindly at him and spoke again. "What did you do?"

"I broke it." Ashamed, he tried his hardest not to look down, "I broke your vase-thingy with your grandma in it I was angry because it meant that I'd ruined everything."

"My 'vase-thingy with m grandma in it'?" She frowned, looking at the boy quizzically, "Do you mean the urn you broke earlier?"

"I think so, yeah." He nodded.

"Oh Sweets," Once again, she smiled at him, "That urn didn't contain my Grandma - I moved that one to some place safer after the football incident last week, remember?"

"It didn't? Oh yeah..."

"Yeah," His foster mother smiled again at him, "The one that you broke contained Mr Pebbles, Brandon's old cat."

"It did?" His eyes widened in fear. _He'd broken his foster brother's urn... That_ couldn't _be good..._

"Hey, don't worry! Do you want to know a secret?" Leaning forward, she shot him a mischeivous smile, humour dancing in her eyes when he nodded. "I never liked that cat - he always scratched me and stole my seat."

"Really?" He giggled.

"Yeah!" She nodded, laughing, "And he always hissed at me for no reason!"

"Well if I were a cat, I'd probably hiss at you too!" He teased, confidence washing over him as he laughed with her.

"Oh, you cheeky little-!" Springing forward, she grabbed him and pulled him to the bed, where she started tickling him mericilessly, "Take that back!"

"No!" Laughing, he wriggled out of her grip and crawled under the bed, where he whispered a few words to his still-hidden sister.

"It's okay, Mari, we're safe."

With a grin, she opened her eyes and removed her face from her blankie, in which it had previously been buried in. Following her brother, she arm-crawled out from under the bed and launched an attack on her foster mother.

 _If Stef was surprised to find out that Mariana had been hidden under the bed all the time, she gave no indications and instead continued the game, working hard to tickle both of them and all the while smiling widely as both children became more carefree and playful._

 _Later on, when the twins were worn out, Stef would clean up the mess - both the one upstairs and the smashed remains of the evil Mr Pebbles'. And that night, after she'd tucked them and Brandon into their respective beds and read as many bedtime stories as she could before her eyes began to go blurry, she'd go downstairs, open a bottle of wine and talk to Lena. Because right now, as she hugged, tickled and teased those two laughing children, she knew, without a doubt, that they were hers. They belonged with her and Lena and it was about time they made it official._


End file.
